Tuesday, January 17, 2012


image borrowed from bing


It’s all tea and crumpets
until inspectors in fedoras
and restless 3-piece suits

stand pointing at your
railway car and leaning
on your tiny caboose.

Other snoopers,
as you possibly know
from your own tangos
with clipboarded eyes,

are the popcorn police,
the chain-link fence patrol
and the nudity overseers.

There are even
government spies
ever on the watch
that farmers’ spring
grass fires never burn
wider than a 2-square
meter patch per year,

farmers whose
grandfathers cleared
said land almost two
hundred years ago,

farmers who, by age 10
had already forgotten
most of what had been
handed down to them
about ash fertilization,
ladybug June cotillions
and the pull of the moon
over October stallions.

Did I mention a good
many stout farming
lads and lassies were
conceived those April
grass fire nights as the
last puffs of snowmelt

were seeping back to
the love that still is
and always will be
recreating itself
from the lungs of the
universe breathing?

Jannie Funster

Posted over on her site Jannie Funster
Listed as #10 over on dVerse Poets-Open Link Night 27

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